Pearl Trash

There's no reason the poem has to match the photo, right?  Although maybe the title refers to the poem. Let the reader beware!

The photo is there to say that though the day was lovely and warm, there were no families crowding the wall where the sprinklers go on every May. Virus Time. Social isolation. Will there be sprinklers this year?
There were, however, crowds in the sunny streets and at the market, people who seemed to have no idea that there was a pandemic and they were ordered to stay six feet from other people. 

And now for the poem of the day, NaPoWriMo Day 8.
 

DANCING WITH ERIC CLAPTON

One day’s much like another
as Virus Time drags on.
More and more like “Groundhog Day,”
no faces, no hugs, no fun.

I didn’t like going out much
in the eerie empty streets.
Now the crowds are here, and careless,
and they pass so close they touch.

I try to keep social distance
and my mask’s on, but you see,
my mask just keeps the others safe.
They’re not doing the same for me.

When I’m home I make no progress
and the clutter piles up high.
Others sort old photos and letters,
I can’t seem to find the time.

Finally I turn to YouTube
for a song for an English friend.
Dame Vera Lynn during World War II
sings songs I forgot I knew.

Songs about the white cliffs of Dover
and how we’ll meet again some sunny day.
Now I’m really in the groove
and I’m letting YouTube choose.

It shows me Frank Sinatra
and duets by Louis and Ella.
Soon I’m singin’ tomato-tomahto
and admiring young Nat King Cole.

Then I happen on Eric Clapton.
Gotta say, I’m not a fan
‘cause I really don’t know his music,
though everybody knows his name.

In a closeup of his fingers
I’m converted instantly
and before I even know it
I’m no longer in my seat.

I am rockin’ on my feet,
I’m no longer at the keyboard,
using all the room in my condo space
from the windows to the door.

Clapton's fingers keep dancing on the gee-tar
as if it’s no big deal
till my feet are getting tired.
On my face there’s a little smile.

I wish he’d play something familiar
and then at the very end
there’s a reference to Beethoven,
Für Elise! Now I’m his new friend.

I’m gonna find more Eric Clapton.
I’ll belatedly catch up
to the rest of my generation
who already know his stuff.

Oh, I’d hate to be a Pobble* —
‘It’s a fact the whole world knows’ —
for I have a Virus project
that will keep me on my toes.

 
*See “The Pobble Who Has No Toes” by Edward Lear.